In Sights Unseen
by Lint
Summary: Another AU Xander fic.
1. One

Dedicated to the incredibly talented Rae Vertudez. Who's original Roswell fics "I'm Alex Whitman" and "Dasein" were the basis for this. What can I say? True talent inspires us all. I miss you lass. Hope you're having fun in college.   
  
***  
  
I hate my father.   
  
I hate how he made my life miserable.   
  
I hate how he was a drunken louse throughout my entire childhood.   
  
I hate how the drunkenness was all a lie.   
  
I hate that he's a liar.   
  
I hate that he lied to me.   
  
I should have realized it by then. Oh, I don't think I could have had any sort of actual clue of what I was. But I should have known *something* wasn't right with me. Well, I mean other than being lord screw up most of my life, and my father's constant reminder of that fact. I should have known why exactly I could never feel like I truly belonged to the Scoobies. I should have known something, anything.   
  
I hate him for what he is.   
  
I hate him for what that makes me.   
  
My name is Xander Harris.   
  
I hate myself too.   
  
***  
  
It all started with an overheard phone conversation.   
  
Willow and I were rambling on about our day, like we always did, and that night our conversation was mainly centered on the latest hell beast we had to fight to save the world. It's a routine that, no matter how many times you do it, you never seem to be able the shake the overwhelming sense of dread that this time might just be your last. We were both just stopping home to grab a change of clothes and some food before we joined back up with Buffy and Giles to go on the hunt. Willow was really nervous that night. She has a thing with frogs, and the latest demon that swaggered into our city limits greatly resembled one. When you saw it in person it was hard to take it seriously. It looked like a giant puppet in army boots. You couldn't help but laugh. That is to say, until it shot its poisonous saliva at you. That stuff could eat through a brick wall in seconds. I should know, the first night we came across it the wall behind me at the time had a huge hole in it when I stood back up after dodging the shot by diving to the ground.   
  
Anyway, Willow was rambling on in her neurotic fear driven frog paranoia and I was trying to be comforting, offering mild jokes involving French cuisine and Michigan J. Frog. I thought I heard my parents pick up on the other line and was about to yell at them that I was on the phone, but it I didn't hear anything else, and ignored it. We talked about how Buffy would kill the thing and I heard the floorboards creak outside my door. I didn't know why I felt like I was the subject of an FBI investigation at the time, I just had an eerie sense that I was being spied on. By my parents no doubt. They'd stopped paying me any attention shortly after my sixth birthday, and now it seemed like they were listening in on me. That just made it eerier.   
  
We hung up with each other and I grabbed my coat and headed downstairs. My father was passed out on the couch (big surprise) when I walked through the living room, and I was almost to the door when he called out to me.   
  
"Where you going boy?" He mumbled.   
  
I turned toward him, head down, and said I was going to Willow's.   
  
"Look me in the eyes when you speak to me," he droned. "Show me some damned respect."  
  
I think I blinked several times before I dared look up at him. He never once asked me to look him in the eyes. Respect or not, he liked it when I looked like a scared mouse, the sadistic bastard. Our eyes locked together. I should have known then. The living room reeked of liquor, but there was my father sitting on the couch with his shirt un-tucked and basically looking like a bum. And he stared at me with eyes so cold I think I shivered. It was the first time I'd really bothered to look at him in years, and his eyes just scared the shit out of me. Because for the first time in my adolescent life they weren't glazed over with alcohol.   
  
His eyes were cold and sober.   
  
And filled with knowledge.   
  
He didn't say anything else, and I wasn't sure how long we stood there staring at each other. I finally bowed my head and walked quickly to the front door and he didn't call after me. I should have known then, though what I could have done about it I don't know.   
  
***  
  
I got home late like I usually did whenever we were out fighting the forces of evil. My father wasn't on the couch anymore and I remember letting out a sigh of relief. I didn't want to have another stare down like the one we'd had for the rest of my life. I was halfway up the stairs when his voice called for me to come into the kitchen.   
  
I think I cursed, and thought about running out of the door and heading to Willow's, but I didn't. I stood on the stairs for a minute because I could have sworn he used a word I'd never heard come out of his mouth. He said "please."  
  
To say I was shocked when I walked into the kitchen would be a vast understatement. There stood my father, clean-shaven, hair combed, freshly dressed in a crisp looking suit. If it were a cartoon I'm sure I would have had to pick my jaw off the floor. He smiled at me. The lines of his face looked so unused to the motion. The creases of skin next to his lips looked like steel trying to fold. It didn't look very comfortable. I think I mumbled something like "what's going on?" But I can't remember.   
  
The man had looked like a slob and a bum my whole life and there he was looking like he belonged on the cover of Forbes magazine. I didn't know what to think. I don't think I thought at all.   
  
I should have known.   
  
But I didn't know.   
  
"I'm sorry son," he said. His voice sounding nowhere near sincere. "I had to wait until I felt that you were ready."  
  
Ready for what?  
  
"For the truth," he said. "About who you are. About where you come from."   
  
And that's when I really didn't want to know.   
  
Believe me when I say I didn't.   
  
***  
  
He took me on a month long "camping" trip in Wyoming. What a wonderfully dull place. There was nothing around us for miles. I think that's why the tribe liked it so much. No humans were ever bound to surprise them on the large portion of land they dwelled on. They could see anyone coming for miles.  
  
My father told me that he called my "little" friend Willow and told her that he'd quit drinking, (turns out he never drank a drop in his life. Could have fooled me.) And that he wanted to take me camping with him like we'd done when I was three. I didn't remember anything like that, but Willow and I didn't know each other then, so she couldn't object. He told her he wanted to make up for lost time.   
  
I would have given anything for that to have been true. Because I never wanted to learn what he taught me that summer.   
  
I was a demon.   
  
More accurately, I was a half-breed.   
  
I asked my father if mom knew about any of this. He didn't answer. I then realized that I hadn't really seen her the past couple of days before my father and I left. Come to think of it, it had been even longer than that. I knew then that she somehow must have found out about my father and me.   
  
I hate the fact that my mom left.   
  
I hate the fact that she never told me she was leaving.   
  
I hate the fact that I knew she was never coming back.   
  
I hate the fact that what I am drove her away.   
  
My father's divine bloodline was greatly increased when mixed with humans. That is something that still doesn't make sense to me. From all I'd learned from Giles, human blood dilutes a demon's power. Vampires were human/demon mixes and were pretty weak compared to other, more pure bred, demons. Apparently I was stronger than I thought, though I never could really exert the strength because I never knew it existed.   
  
The tribesman referred to my father as their king. They referred to me as their prince.   
  
We were the royal bloodline to the Tribe of the Fallen. Once leaders of the world when it was nothing but a haven for the forces of darkness. Demons and monsters and various other forms of evil roamed freely and viciously, and we ruled them all. Our power had collapsed when the rays of light (AKA forces of good) smote our society down and sent most of us into hell, cleansing the Earth to become the home for man.   
  
I hate my Father for never bothering to tell me any of this before.   
  
After a week of history lessons about my "people" my father begin to train me with my power.   
  
I didn't really believe it.   
  
Me have a power?   
  
I didn't want to believe it. I was Joe Normal, the one guy in the group who didn't have anything supernaturally inclined about him. Sometimes I wished it wasn't always like that, but mostly I was fine with it. I would give anything to have kept it that way now.   
  
One day my father took me to a clearing in the woods and told me destroy a group of trees in front of me.   
  
I told him to get me a bulldozer.   
  
He laughed tonelessly and told me to use my hands.   
  
I told him to get me a chainsaw.   
  
He laughed again and to me to use my power.   
  
I told him a lame joke about a chicken and an egg.   
  
It was almost scary to see my Father so patient. He never had been before. All part of the drunken abuse act.   
  
I hate him for his patience.   
  
I hate him for his honesty.   
  
I finally humored him and raised my arm. I pointed my finger at a group of trees and said "boom."  
  
Imagine the look on my face when the beam of crimson light shot from hand and mowed the trees down like I was sticking a fan in front of some toothpicks. I'd never seen my Father look so proud. I thought I was going to be sick. I hated him and wanted to zap him into sawdust. But I didn't.  
  
***  
  
I hate Wyoming.   
  
It's really, really boring. My only surroundings were hills and trees and the occasional stream. I'm a city boy. Country life just wasn't for me. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be with my friends. I wanted to be with people who wanted to save the world instead of rule it.   
  
It was the last week of the trip when my father told me that my friends were not really my friends. He said that with the knowledge I now possessed, the strength I had harnessed, the mere fact that I was one with the things they destroyed, meant that they were never really my friends. He told me that whatever loyalty I felt to them was only foolish admiration for their capabilities. But now I knew that I was capable of so much more than them. Whatever tie I had with them was false. I didn't want to believe him. We'd had plenty of tolerance about creatures of the night. Oz was a werewolf and Angel was a vampire. Why should anyone care if I was a demon? Wait, scratch that, half-demon.   
  
My father said that if they ever found out what tribe I hailed from I would be destroyed quickly.   
  
I didn't want to believe him.   
  
I never did.   
  
***  
  
My father didn't come back with me.   
  
Just before I left he told me something about achieving everyone's trust and how it would be so easy now to execute the plan from the inside. I already had everyone's trust. What reasons did they have not to trust me? He told me my destiny was mine alone and he couldn't be there to help me through it. I hate that word "destiny." My father used it about as much as Giles did with Buffy. About how it was beyond us to control it, that it controlled us. It's a concept my freethinking mind will never fully grasp. I will not let my destiny control me. I will not let it hurt those closest to me. I will not let it kill.   
  
Because what good is a destiny that would only bring pain and misery to all those around me? What good is it when it means that I'd have to kill one of my best friends?  
  
In the history lessons that my father taught me, I learned that the original force of good that had driven out the eons of darkness on earth, eventually bound itself into a sentient force merged with a human girl. And when that girl died, a new one was called upon to receive the force. And so it went on for centuries. When one girl would die, another would take her place. Does this legend sound familiar?   
  
I was part of the darkness that slayer essence had driven out.   
  
My destiny was to destroy that essence.   
  
My destiny was to kill Buffy.   
  
I really hate that word.   
  
***  
  
I hate truth.  
  
I hate deception.  
  
I hate destiny.  
  
I hate all of this.  
  
I hate that I was going to have to lie to all of my friends.   
  
I hate that I had all of this knowledge floating around in my brain but I couldn't tell anyone.   
  
I hate knowing that I'm something I used to hate.   
  
I hate having to pretend I'm happy about it.   
  
***  
  
I made a list of things to do the first night sitting in my now empty house.   
  
One was to work on my "Zap."  
Two was to tell my friends I'm a human-demon hybrid.  
Three was to tell my friends I'm the King of the Fallen's son.  
Four was to tell my friends I'm on their side.  
Five was to form a strategy to destroy my father.  
Six was to make my father and all his tribesman turn to dust with my "zap."  
  
It looked better on paper.   
  
I thought that I should mention to someone, possibly Willow, that my mother was never coming back. But I rarely ever talked about my home life anyway, and quickly scratched it off the list. My father told me one last thing before I climbed on the bus to come back to California.   
  
"I'm very proud of you son," he said.   
  
I'd never heard those words from him in my entire life.   
  
I hated him even more.   
  
I walked into the library later that night. Amy glanced at me and said, "Hey," as if I had spent a month around the corner and not a thousand miles away in Wyoming. She gave me a brief hug and said she had to go home really quick, and that we would talk later.   
  
Cordelia mumbled a hello from behind the counter.   
  
Giles shook my hand and politely asked how my trip was.   
  
Buffy and I shared an awkward embrace.   
  
Oz smiled at me and said a simple "Welcome back."  
  
What, did I expect a banner to say "Welcome Home Xander"?  
  
For a moment I almost believed my father.  
  
Then I saw Willow.  
  
When she first noticed me, she dropped the books she was carrying on a table with a loud clatter and ran over.   
  
"Xander! You're home!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms around me.   
  
I hugged her back furiously, needing the comfort of my oldest friend to help me in my own world of moral crisis.   
  
"How was Wyoming?" She asked. "Sunnydale was boring, but you should know that. Fighting the big and the nasty. You know, same old, same old."  
  
Somewhere in between her chatter, I finally understood why exactly I had always pictured her and I being old together in some rest home. It was because Willow was... Willow. She had an amazing talent to make it seem as if she should know everything, as if she belonged to you, as if you belonged to her. She could casually force her way through anything and anyone.  
  
I wanted to tell her everything.  
  
I wanted to tell her who I am.  
  
I wanted to tell her who my father is.  
  
But I didn't.   
  
Instead, I lied my ass off. I sat with the six of them and pretended to be good ol,' dependable, funny Xander Harris. I made up stories about camping and threw my god-knows-where-she-is mother into them. I made my stupid jokes, and acted like nothing had changed.  
  
And they believed me.  
  
Everyone believes me.  
  
No one suspects me.  
  
No one should.  
  
They have no reason not to.  
  
I'm not a threat when I don't know what side I'm playing for.  
  
I hate this.  
  
I hate all of this.  
  
I could make everything and everyone disappear.  
  
But I can't.   
  
Because I could never intentionally hurt anyone.  
  
I'm Xander Harris.   
  
I hate myself. 


	2. Two

Everything is different lately.   
  
Or maybe it's just me.   
  
I can feel my body's energy now. The horrible explosive power that it's capable of. It churns like electricity in my veins. I think that it's made me jumpy because the last few days I've been really, really paranoid. I'm afraid that one of my friends was just going to look at me and know. Like 'demon' would magically appear to be stamped on my forehead. I want them to know, and I don't want them to know. I have no idea what is going on.   
  
My social life has changed slightly.   
  
I had a date the other day.   
  
Yes, that's right.   
  
I had a date.   
  
I was in a bookstore when this cute girl who worked there asked if I needed any help. I told her I didn't but she didn't walk away. She just kind of stood there and watched me thumb through a book I had no intention of buying.   
  
"You have an interesting aura," she told me.   
  
I think I laughed because she smiled at me. I wondered what she would have thought if she saw that I literally could make my body glow. I bet she would have ran screaming for the hills. I pretended to look at the book for another minute and she said that she was getting off of work soon, and would I want join her for some coffee? I said sure. I still don't know what possessed me to do that.   
  
We had a nice enough time. Chit chatted about things that never really mattered, talked a little bit about books, though my knowledge of them only ranged in the "older than you, scary, and incredibly boring" category. After we were done she said that she kind of liked me and wouldn't object to seeing me again. I said that I would like that.   
  
I had no intention of ever seeing her again, but it was nice to spend a little time with someone who knew absolutely nothing about me.   
  
When I told Willow about it later, she told me that girls haven't always been blind to my subtle good looks. She said that it was probably because of lately I've been more laid-back, which I attribute to having too much on my mind to make any attempts at looking for girls and ending up looking like a dork half the time. She also said that disappearing for a month was long enough in this town for people to forget about you. Oh how I wished that was true. She then said something about how maybe I'd changed in a few people's eyes.   
  
I almost make a lame joke about how I had changed, but wisely kept my mouth shut.   
  
Small side note on the changing thing.   
  
I was really paranoid the first couple of days when I came back home. Like Buffy and everyone would immediately be able to tell that I had *changed* or something. Well, then again, "changed" would mean that me being half-demon happened only in the last month, when the truth is, this all happened seventeen years ago and I just now found out about it. I think I should rephrase here for a second. I was really freaked at the prospect that the Scooby gang would look at me for one second and would instantly see with their special powers of deduction the truth that had been bestowed upon their old friend Xander. That all it would take would be one glance at me from Oz and his nose would twitch and smell the demon on me. Or for Buffy to say, "You seem kind of... different."   
  
Damn, I sound like a thirteen-year-old girl going through puberty.  
  
"Do I look different to you? Have I changed at all?"  
  
They couldn't tell a damn thing.   
  
I was glad and mad about it all at the same time.   
  
***  
  
When I'm at home I *know* everything is different.   
  
I'm the only who even lives here anymore.   
  
My mom is off god knows where, and my father stayed behind in Wyoming.   
  
Speaking of my father, he calls once a week for status reports on the slayer. The conversation is usually quick and painless. I usually give him a load of bogus information, because lately I've been trying not to pay that much attention to her. Just so I didn't have to make up too much false info. I'm not very good with details. He asks me if the plan is working, and half the time I forget what plan he's talking about. I tell him yes. We hang up.   
  
The house is dark and quiet without the loud drunken fights of my family. In a small scary way I almost miss it, but I really do prefer the silence. I like the quiet. I never play the stereo or turn the TV up. If I want noise I'll go to the Bronze, or hang out with my friends. I never turn on a light or draw a shade open unless I really have to. Which, rarely, I do. I stumble around in the darkness to get to the bathroom for midnight release, bumping into shadowed objects with my legs, and stubbing my toes on countless bits of furniture. It starts to hurt after the first five times but I refuse to flip any switches along the way.   
  
Sound and light just seem to remind mind me how empty the house really is when there's no one else here to utilize it.   
  
I can sit here in the dark and quiet as long as I want and pretend nothing is wrong. But I know that soon I'll have to make a choice about some things. About who I really am. About whom I'll stand by when the time comes. But for now I'll just sit here.   
  
Alexander LaVelle Harris.   
  
This is your life.   
  
Are we having fun yet?  
  
***  
  
I stare in the mirror one morning and hardly recognize the person staring back at me.   
  
I think of all my friends.   
  
They are the lucky ones.   
  
Sure, they may fight evil more than they sleep. They may risk their lives day in and day out. That may not seem so lucky to casual observer, but that's not what I'm talking about. Each one of them knows who they are. They know what side they fight on. They know where they stand. Buffy was the slayer. Giles was the watcher. Willow was the brains. Amy was the heart. Cordy was the feistiness. Oz was, well Oz. But at least he knew who that was.   
  
Me?   
  
I am Xander Harris.   
  
That is all I know.  
  
Whatever that means.   
  
It's still summertime so I don't have to go to school. Most of the time I'm grateful for that. I don't have to sit through some boring class when my mind is nowhere near the subjects I'm supposed to be taught. I guess that now I really can say that I don't need anything they teach me in High School. Why do I need to know the square route of 642 when I'm supposed to burn the Earth to ashes? But sometime I'd like a reason more than total boredom to escape my house. Hanging out with my friends can sometimes be to nerve racking.   
  
I look away from the mirror and I decide to go to the library and hang out with my friends anyway. But only because I really want a distraction.   
  
***  
  
It was Buffy who finally noticed a small difference in my character. We were having lunch one day at a small Cafe next to the movie theatre. Willow, Oz, Cordy, and Amy were with us, but they left to go pursue some fun in the remaining sunlit hours and we were all that was left behind. I don't know what it was I said or did, but she saw something wrong. She figured it was something human, something that could be fixed.  
  
I lied straight to her face and told her it was nothing and munched on the rest of my chicken sandwich.   
  
She didn't say anything else. She just waited.   
  
"Would you complain to a blind person that sunlight gives you a headache?" I joked.  
  
She rolled her eyes at my analogy. "I may not be the most understanding person at times, Xander, but that doesn't mean that your problems are nothing to me. I know how you feel sometimes."  
  
"Says the girl who saves the world on a weekly basis," I said.  
  
She rolled her eyes again. And waved her hand with typical, I'm the slayer and I have no time for games, fashion. "Seriously, Xander."  
  
I shrugged my shoulders and made another joke. And she gave up, because she knew that after Angel and everything else, we'd spent too much time apart for me to want her help right now.  
  
***  
  
That night I had a dream.   
  
I was Prince of the Tribe.   
  
We weren't the Fallen yet, because in my dream, we still ruled.   
  
I watched the world from my throne of bones. Humans, or what most resembled humans then, were being used like oxen plowing fields. They were tied up in endless numbers, marching to oblivion. The skies were not the eternal sea of blue I was used to. They were black like ash and storms raged within the clouds of dust. Guards stood their ground on the small steps in front of us. I didn't have to turn my head to know my father was right next to me. For a brief second I looked for my mother. I don't know why. I knew she wouldn't be there.   
  
My hands didn't look my own. They were big and gray and had little claws instead of fingernails. I knew this was my demon body. I wish beyond all hope that that didn't have mirrors. My father spoke to me but I couldn't understand the words that came from his mouth. They were in a tongue I had no comprehension of. I nudged my shoulder and I looked at him.   
  
I really wish I hadn't.   
  
I saw his face, his true face.   
  
My true face.   
  
I won't tell you what it looked like because I never ever wanted to see it. He never showed me what he really looked like in Wyoming. I was glad.   
  
I woke up screaming in my empty house.   
  
I knew it wouldn't bother anyone.   
  
***  
  
"We should do this more," she said to me, breaking me out of my thoughts.   
  
It took me a second to fully realize where I was and who was talking to me. We were sitting in the car my father left behind waiting for this gang of demons to meet at a warehouse on the outskirts of the Sunnydale business district. Willow and Oz were in his van across the street, while Giles, Cordy, and Amy were standing on the roof of a neighboring building, telescope, binoculars and all. It was just another exciting night of patrol in an otherwise boring existence. I moved the bat that rested in my lap onto the floor and turned to meet the eyes of the girl sitting next to me in the passenger seat.   
  
"Do what?" I asked. "Patrolling? We do this all the time."  
  
Buffy sighed and tapped me lightly on the shoulder. "No. Hang out. We haven't spent that much time together lately."  
  
"Well, we've both been busy," I reasoned, careful to keep my voice flat. "Have a lot of things on our minds."  
  
For a second, I thought I saw hurt in her eyes. Then she blinked, and whatever I thought I saw was wiped away. "No reason to let our friendship wither away," she replied softly.  
  
I looked away and stared ahead through the windshield for a while. Keeping my eyes in front of me, I asked, "What's with the sudden need for more quality Buffy and Xander time?"  
  
"Has it ever occurred to you that I like quality Buffy and Xander time?" She countered, smiling that smile of hers, the smile that gets her whatever she wants.  
  
I didn't want to buy into it. I wanted to be strong. I took a moment before replying. "I've noticed that you've been lonely a lot lately."  
  
Her smile disappears and she looks away. The name "Angel" echoes noiselessly in the car like a monkey you couldn't get off your back, chirping in your ear. Minutes passed and we sat in the quiet but loud silence.   
  
"I've been taking people for granted," she finally said, hesitating slightly on how open to be with me. "I've always had you guys to be there for me no matter what. And I guess I kind of got used to it. But I can admit that most of the time I'm not really there for anyone else." She stopped talking and stared out the window with me for a second. "I miss us, Xander. I know I haven't have been the friend I should have been."  
  
More silence as my fingers tightened around the steering wheel without me realizing it.  
  
"I miss the way things used to be," she continued, her own fingers playing with the collar of her leather coat. "Simple."  
  
"As if our lives ever really *were* simple," I said in return, the corners of my mouth twitching upward mildly at her words. "We fight things that aren't supposed to exist by the light of day, everyday. Seems kind of complicated no matter what."   
  
"Simpler," she corrected herself, smiling again. But this time her smile is genuine. I always liked it better that way. "You know what I mean."  
  
I did.  
  
So I let her back in. But only a little bit.   
  
***  
  
Buffy and I started patrolling together every Tuesday night. She says it's our "time." No one else in the group seemed to mind. Tuesday is a slow night all around, there isn't anything really good on TV. Just a show about a mom and daughter, or a whiny bunch of aliens. We usually have the cemeteries we patrol to ourselves. Had she decided on a Friday patrol being our "time", we would have no time to talk or just be, because that's when the kids are usually out in droves. And vampires love to play with their food. We would spend all of our time quiet and ready, waiting for the kill. She didn't want that.  
  
Buffy wanted to be friends again, and surprisingly so did I. We'd had a load of conflicting views in the last year. Stuff I mostly would like to forget. And we kind of grew apart from what we used to be to one another. All three of us (Buffy, Willow, and me) did. We say the word "friends" with a certain vagueness, with an uneasiness, because "friends" is the easiest and most immediate word that comes to mind, but it's not necessarily the most fitting.   
  
What we really want is to fill the empty space between us. It's a strange void that seems to follow us around, silently begging to be filled. We've both tried dating with random people, me with the book girl, her with some guy named Scott. But discovered that it takes more out of you than you put in.  
  
So we spend a majority of our time together. But we avoid touching each other; hugs and playful taps are an established taboo. We talk about everything but ourselves and how we feel. We don't want more complications. But we don't want the awkward silence either.  
  
Come to think of it, the arrangement is not all that different from the one we used to have.   
  
And it's surprisingly nice. To have someone there without the having to think about who you are and what you mean to each other. What we have is simple.   
  
Just what she wanted.   
  
***  
  
After the usually short patrol Buffy and I met everyone back at the cafe next to the movie theatre. I can never remember the name of the place. Amy sometimes works a shift or two there, and tonight she is working. So everyone's giving her a hard time. She takes the teasing in stride and messes up our orders on purpose. It felt good being around all of them again, laughing and smiling like I used to. It was a feeling that lasted only a few seconds, but I was glad it lasted as long as it did.   
  
The only people in the cafe were the five of us. Giles didn't exactly want to spend *all* of his free time with a group of teenagers. So I was a bit surprised when they didn't notice the nearly seven foot tall man walk inside. The bells on the door rang and everything. I recognized him immediately. He was one of the council members of the tribe. What was he doing here? How'd he know where to find me?   
  
The others still didn't notice him.   
  
I came to the conclusion that my father sent him to check up on me. To get a progress report that wasn't full of my false information. My hands tightened around the napkin I was strangling underneath the table. My heartbeat was pounding inside my ears. I wanted him to leave.   
  
Our eyes locked for the briefest second. I used all my will to mentally force him to go. He just stood there watching me. Watched as my friends continued their conversation without noticing that I was currently scared out of my mind. My eyes darted back and forth between him and my friends.   
  
Leave! I shouted inside my mind.   
  
Please?  
  
I bit the inside of my cheek to control my breathing. I tried to gulp back air in my dry throat, and I swear the action was almost as loud as my heartbeat. But Buffy and the others didn't notice.  
  
He did though.  
  
He shifted his head towards me, enough for me to enter his line of vision, but also enough so if someone happened to glance at the giant, they would think that he was examining the old Maxwell House Coffee sign above my head on the wall behind me. I shook my head slightly at him. No, I said to him silently, don't come near me. Not here. Not anywhere.  
  
He stared back at me, his face blank.  
  
Our staring contest ensued for a few seconds.  
  
Blink. Stare. Blink.  
  
Pound. Pound. Pound.  
  
Breathe. Gasp. Breathe.  
  
You know who my father is, I quietly commanded. Leave now and I won't tell him you disobeyed me. I wasn't exactly sure how he could receive that kind of message with my eyes, but he seemed to understand. He nodded once and quietly stood up and left. I know he'll tell my father that I was laughing and smiling and having a good time with the people I was supposed to be ruining, and at the moment I didn't really care. I could make something up later. I can tell my father that I was doing what he told me. I was still acting like their friend. They suspected nothing. Isn't that what you wanted?  
  
Sometimes I hate lying to my father.   
  
But only because I get nervous and think I'll forget what I had and had not told him already.   
  
Still, I feel good about getting him to leave. I cherish my small victory.   
  
Amy walked over to the table and asked who that guy who came in was. Everyone stopped their chatting and tried to remember if they'd seen anyone. My heart dropped into my stomach when everyone turned their heads to me. Did you see him Xander? Was there anybody here?  
  
I thought I was going to pass out. I felt the sweat building in my palms and dripping down my back. I must have looked like I'd just avoided a car wreck to them. I couldn't breathe.  
  
"Are you okay?" Buffy asked me. "You look a little uh..."  
  
"Actually, I'm feeling a little... out of it," I said cutting her off before she could say anything more. We looked at each for a while, saying nothing. No one else said anything either, but all their eyes were on me. I felt like the celebrity who never wanted his stardom. Buffy put her hand on my shoulder, and it felt strange. We weren't supposed to touch each other. It usually threw our whole routine off center.   
  
I shot out of my seat.   
  
"I'm going to go," I told them all.   
  
"All right," Buffy said softly. No one else said anything, but Willow stared at me with concerned eyes. I shrugged at her. I couldn't think of anything to say. Buffy told me that she would call me later, and Willow asked me to call her. I said I would, but I knew I wouldn't.   
  
I walked out of the cafe and headed down the street. I only saw him an instant before his massive hand struck the back of my head. I hit the ground with an "oof" and he grabbed my shirt and hauled me back onto my feet. He spoke quietly but venomously about how he didn't like my father or me. He hadn't come here to check up on me. He wanted to kill me. He wanted to kill all of my friends.   
  
He threw me against a brick wall and I swear I heard my own forehead crack against it. He started speaking in the tongue I'd heard in my dream. His eyes had gone pitch black. He rambled on and on in the foreign language and I watched as the energy in his hands grew.   
  
He hated my father.   
  
He hated me.   
  
He was going to kill me.   
  
I couldn't think at all. I'd faced countless threats in my life and always miraculously made it through. I was lucky all those times. I know that now. Because this time I wasn't going to get out unscathed. He meant to kill me. He was going to get what he wanted.   
  
I don't know what come over me in that alley. I'd always planned to never use anything my father had taught me ever again. But all I know is that in that moment, I didn't want to die.   
  
I raised my hand toward him.   
  
He still mumbled on and built his power.   
  
I pointed a finger at him.   
  
I whispered "boom."  
  
***  
  
I'm not sure how long I stood staring at the smoldering pile of ash that used to be a seven foot tall member of the Tribe. The bricks behind the pile were stained powder black, and a small bit of smoke rose from that too. My mind was surprisingly blank. All I had known was that he was going to kill me. Instead I killed him. I pointed my finger at him, said the magic word, and poof. He was gone.   
  
I'm glad I won't have to explain this to my father.   
  
If the man was here to kill me, I was pretty sure he knew nothing about it. I wondered if dad was really as secure in his place as king as he thought it was. I made a small note to myself not to care.   
  
I heard the voices of my friends coming from down the street. In all the excitement I'd forgotten that the use of my power could also double as a light show. They'd probably seen it all from where I was standing a few blocks down.  
  
I proceed to get the hell out of there.  
  
I listened to the sound of my shoes slapping against the cracked sidewalk as I ran and I tried to stay in the shadows. I was okay. I did the right thing. He wanted to kill me. I just defended myself. I had to run from my friends. They weren't ready to know about me yet.   
  
Do you really believe that? My mind asked.   
  
I stopped, then shook the question, the guilt of weakness out of my head.  
  
Walk. Walk. Walk.  
  
Run. Run. Run.  
  
Flee, little mouse, flee.   
  
I raced to the house that I no longer called home.  
  
*** 


	3. Three

Willow is in the hospital.   
  
She had a mild concussion and a few scrapes and bruises. She told everyone she was fine as we stood around her bed. She even tried to smile but ended up doing some kind of weird half-wince. Oz stood stoically at her side, his hand gently holding hers. Giles wanted to know when and how it had happened. Buffy wanted to know if it was something that she could stop. Amy was just concerned for her friend. And Cordy felt pretty much the same.   
  
Me?  
  
I only felt two things.   
  
An incredible amount of guilt that this had happened to her.  
  
And a mind numbing sense of fear. Because I knew what had done this to her.   
  
March me through the desert and crucify me now.   
  
It's all my fault.   
  
She described the man as "huge." They're all huge. There aren't any little weaklings running around in the tribe. Except maybe me. She told us that he had a beard, wore dark jeans and a red flannel shirt. She said he looked like a trucker on steroids. She didn't remember too much about what had happened. Giles questioned her in his slow, caring manner, and Buffy just looked like she wanted to kill something.   
  
She remembered going to the magic shop. She remembered buying a few roots whose name I can't recall, a small spell book and a jar of eye of newt. She told us that when she left the shop, no one was on the sidewalk, and she didn't hear anything before she was hit. I knew how she felt. The same thing happened to me. But I could defend myself. She couldn't.   
  
It was all my fault.   
  
I was sure to stand off to the side and keep quiet. Too many thoughts were whirling around inside my brain. I knew who it was that attacked her. I knew my "tribe" wanted me and my friends dead for some reason. Well, different reasons than the more obvious ones. I swore they could hear my heart beating so loud again.   
  
They didn't.   
  
We were all about to leave when Willow remembered one last thing. The giant trucker guy had said something to her. Something that didn't make any sense to her.   
  
"He said I knew the Prince," she told us. "Whoever that is."  
  
Blind panic took over my body. I shoved my hands in my pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking. Everyone else mulled over what "prince" the man could have been talking about and I quietly exited into the hallway. I was getting sick of all this "demon" crap. I didn't want it. I didn't ask for it. I wish it would just go away. But it won't go away. It can't. I'm stuck.   
  
They're all going to have a meeting at the library later. It's standard protocol when something attacks one of us big and ugly. Oz will most likely stay behind with Willow, which is good. Caring boyfriend duties and all that. I won't be there. I know it will raise some questions. Questions I know I couldn't possibly answer. I didn't care. At that moment I wanted to be anywhere else.   
  
I slipped out of the hospital and ran all the way back to my house.   
  
This was starting to become a habit.   
  
***  
  
I got to my house, after ignoring most of the cross traffic as I ran through mostly unused streets. I opened the door, walked inside, and started to push away the KFC take-out containers and pizza boxes that were scattered all over the kitchen table. Underneath all the mess was a tiny slip of paper with numbers written in a precise hand. I picked up the phone and pushed the numbers that are written down.   
  
If it's even possible, his phone voice seemed colder than his real one. His tone was short and clipped and I don't think he really wanted to talk to me then. Too bad.   
  
"Who the fuck is in Sunndayle dad?" I yelled into the receiver.   
  
It felt strange calling him that again but I didn't dwell on it too long.   
  
"Who is where?" He asked, his voice sounding slightly amused at my scream.   
  
"Someone tried to kill me last night. Someone I recognized from your precious tribe. One of them hurt Willow. Who the hell are they?"  
  
There was a pause on the other end of the line. I could hear a few slight murmurings appear in the background. "I'll get some people on it," he said to me. And if I didn't know better, I could have sworn I heard a touch of anxiety in his monotone voice. I don't think he anticipated any of this. But before I can make certain of its presence, I hear a click and the line goes dead. I slammed the phone back on the hook.  
  
"Not even you know," I muttered.   
  
I wandered into my living room, nearly tripping over coffee table for a record tenth time. I flopped onto the couch. I don't know how long I lay there staring aimlessly up at my ceiling. I felt like I should have been doing something, but I couldn't remove myself from the small comforting depths of the cushions. I didn't even try, actually. I wanted to stay there till I died.  
  
The phone started ringing in the kitchen and I'm not sure how long it was before I even noticed. I got up and stumbled over a few more pizza boxes that had fallen to the floor. I picked up the phone thinking it was my father calling me back and I made sure my voice seemed as impatient as it could.   
  
"What?" I barked.   
  
"What is right," she growled back at me.  
  
I stood there a second, blinking in my dark kitchen.   
  
"Buffy?"  
  
"Expecting someone else?" She asked.   
  
Yes.  
  
"No."  
  
"Where did you go Xander?" She asked me. "Willow wanted to talk to you when we were going to leave but you were already gone."  
  
"I wasn't feeling well," I said lamely. "I came home."  
  
"You left a hospital because you weren't feeling well? You seem really out of it lately Xand," she said.   
  
I could hear the concern in her voice. If she only knew.   
  
"Have a lot of stuff on my mind," I said.   
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Stuff."  
  
She got quiet for a second. I could hear her breathing on the other end. Some small part of me wanted to make her feel better. But it was too small to actually have made me do it.   
  
"We may have a lead on the man that attacked her," she said, ending the silence.   
  
"That's good."  
  
"God Xander," she bit out. "Do you even care?"  
  
"Of course I do," I said, my voice still sounding like a recording.   
  
"Prove it," she said. "Be at the library in ten minutes."  
  
She hung up before I could say anything more and I stood there, still holding the phone to my ear.  
  
"Okay," I said to no one.   
  
***  
  
I got there in less than ten minutes because I took my father's car. Everyone was already there sitting around the main table. All their eyes watched me as I walked in. I seemed to be the last in line a lot lately. I don't think I ever felt so out of place in my life. Oz was there. I guess he thought it would better to help Willow by going with us. Good for him. I walked slowly over to them and sat down. They discussed the plan but I don't think I heard a word of it.   
  
Willow was lying in the hospital.   
  
And it was all my fault. She could have known, but I took her only protection away from her. I took the truth away.  
  
My mouth opened and closed every other couple of seconds. I moved to speak and then I didn't.   
  
Open. Close. Open. Close.   
  
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. It felt like a million sewing needles were stabbing me in the legs.   
  
Tell them tell them tell them, my heart whispered into my ear.  
  
Say nothing say nothing say nothing, my mind retorted.  
  
You'd think this would be an easy choice.  
  
Yeah, you would think that, wouldn't you? Just tell them everything. Open up the treasure chest of my mind and lay it all out on the table in front of them. Spill my guts. Cash in a couple million pennies for a couple million thoughts that have been in non-stop rotation in my brain for the past couple of weeks.   
  
But don't you understand what the truth would do?  
  
Do you have any fucking clue at all?  
  
I'm a goddamn demon.   
  
We *kill* goddamned demons.   
  
I couldn't say a word. But there was a part of me that thought I could see a gray area. That I could protect the friends that aren't really supposed to be my friends. I could protect the father that is really a liar and a tyrant. I could protect all of us.   
  
I could protect me. Who was really a coward.  
  
The gray area reverted back to black and white.   
  
Leaving me stuck in the middle.   
  
"Xander?" Buffy said, grabbing my attention. Everyone was standing up and putting on their jackets and grabbing weapons. I didn't hear a single word about the plan but I jumped to my feet and quickly follow anyway. I didn't need any weapons. I had my own built right in. I grabbed some anyway.   
  
No need to get sloppy now.   
  
***  
  
We found them in a dilapidated cabin, which looked more like a shack to me, in Breaker Woods, courtesy of Oz's nose.   
  
And now we were fighting for our lives.  
  
I'm not sure how it all happened, why suddenly I was sitting in a van one minute and sprinting toward some unknown destination with only the shadows of the night to guide me the next. Funny how it all came to this. How in the beginning it all seemed so cool and exciting to be fighting the fight between good and evil. And now it just seemed like reality bit you on the ass and took you for a roller coaster ride to hell.   
  
We've all split up and switched off our flashlights, knowing it would better our chances of achieving surprise, and not thinking that it probably wouldn't help us at all. They were monsters like me. We were screwed. I had grabbed the hand of the person nearest me, who turned out to be Amy, and just took off running without even questioning the plan I'd never heard. Now she and I were struggling past the brush and scratchy braches, not hearing anything but our labored breaths and snaps of the tree branches crunching under our feet.   
  
And suddenly I felt it again. A rush of energy straight to my head and a cold chill running down my spine. I stopped so suddenly Amy almost fell forward into a knocked over tree.   
  
"What's wrong?" She asked, trying to catch her breath. "Xander, what are you doing? We should keep going..."  
  
"We should split up," I found myself saying to her, and pulled my hand from hers.  
  
"What?"   
  
I couldn't see her face very well, but I knew she was looking at me like I'd lost my mind. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped partly open in shock. She didn't want to be alone in the woods where seven-foot tall demons liked to play. She tried to grab my hand again.   
  
"You go that way," I said. "It looks like there is more space to go through. I'll go the other way," I said, surprised at the calmness in my voice.  
  
"Xander, are you nuts? That doesn't make any sense. Don't leave me alone out here!"  
  
"Just *go*, Amy," I replied, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her towards a direction while I ran off to another. And now all I could hear was my own struggled breathing, my own footsteps crashing through piles of branches, my own heartbeat... nothing else. You'd think there'd be owls hooting or crickets chirping or that I could the faint shouts of Buffy and Giles or somebody, but I heard nothing but own movements against the cold and deadly silence.   
  
My shoulders tensed as I felt him coming. I hoped Amy didn't run into one of these guys. I slowed down a little bit, so I was still running but at a deliberately milder pace. The coldness swarms my body at the loss of speed so I let my body charge with the energy inside just a small bit.   
  
Wait.  
  
What the hell was I doing?  
  
Before I could even think to answer my own question, a massive hand grabbed my arm and threw me off the ground. The other hand smacked a big meaty fist against the back of my head and sent me down to the ground in pain and surprise. He didn't wait long before he pulled me up and held me by the shoulders. It was a split-second of a moment that we were able to get a look at each other in the dim moonlight.   
  
He saw just exactly who I was. He smiled.   
  
"You are not my Prince boy," he snarled.   
  
He raised his fist to deliver a knockout blow but I snapped my hands to his neck before he could strike. It was such a small move, but I was surprised when he let his hand fall back to his side. I realize then that he knew what I was capable of. I even think he possibly regretted ever touching me.   
  
And so it started.   
  
I shut my eyes as I gripped his neck firmly. He struggled to get free of me, but it is already too late. He screamed in fear and called out for help to anyone who would listen, anyone who could hear him in the lifeless night.   
  
I must admit.   
  
It was kind of a rush to make giant monster such as him to revert to a sniveling baby with a single touch.  
  
He started to cry out again but it was far, far too late. Anger and frustration and fury... every emotion that has consumed me in endless and continual nightmare torn and sleepless nights broke out of my repressed body.  
  
I squeezed his neck tighter and tighter, willing the burning and tearing of the energy to torch the material of his body into a smoldering pile of ash and cinder. His cries for mercy got louder and louder, and many times he desperately called out ancient spells that paid him no mind. I saw a burst of light erupting from his stomach, and the explosion of several more from other areas of his body. I closed my eyes tighter to avoid the blinding glare that my power creates. And I still refused to let go despite the blistering heat that surrounded us and his wailing cries of pain. My smaller body held on to his more prominent one, and his failed attempt at killing me, and his rebellion against my father. I cried out too as his very existence was burned away at my hand.  
  
I fell to ground when the last of him flickered away.   
  
I felt so much pain building inside my head.  
  
And then there was nothing.  
  
I opened my eyes tentatively, and nothing but the black cloud of ash stood before me.  
  
I fell on my back in exhaustion, collapsing further into silent blackness.  
  
I had just killed another person.   
  
It was justified.   
  
At least that's what I tried to tell myself.   
  
I don't know if I decided to take a nap or just seemed to pass out.   
  
But I was grateful for the rest. 


	4. Four

"Is he okay?" I heard a voice calling from above me.   
  
For a moment I think I'm dead and am flying to heaven's gates, and the angels are floating around me. It only lasts a second.  
  
I was still lying on the damp ground in the woods. The blurry blobs in front of my eyes that spoke jumbled phrases, soon appeared to be all of my friends hovering over me. I didn't want to move. My head was throbbing from where big and tall decided to use me as a punching bag. I'm pretty sure I felt dried blood encrusted along my face. I felt like someone dropped a wrecking ball on my skull.   
  
Ow, ow, ow.   
  
"Should we pick him up?" Someone asked.   
  
I grunted my objection to the idea and tried to get up on my own. My eyes were still closed, and my center of balance was remarkably discombobulated. I stumbled back to my knees and suddenly felt a barrage of hands trying to help me up.   
  
"Easy now," an authoritive male voice said to me.   
  
I think it was Giles, but my mind wasn't exactly functioning at an optimum level. So I wasn't completely sure. I kept my eyes closed as they helped me walk. Light only caused more pain and I was pretty sure I'd reached my limit.   
  
"Xander?" A feminine voice spoke softly into my ear. "Are you all right? What happened?"  
  
I peeked my eyes open just enough to see that it was Buffy who was asking me. I tried to say something but only ended up coughing. I felt a few loose teeth inside my mouth. That's just lovely. No one said anything else to me as we made our way back toward Oz's van. Once we reached it, they slid open the door and set me down inside. My head was still throbbing and I didn't want to answer any of their questions about my well being. I passed out again on the ride back.   
  
***  
  
When I woke up again I found myself lying flat on my back on Giles' couch. Everyone but Oz was there. I assumed he'd gone back to the hospital to be with Willow. Buffy was sitting next to me on the floor and Amy and Cordelia sat on the other chairs. I groaned and all of them were suddenly by my side.   
  
"You look like hell," Cordy said playfully.   
  
I couldn't think of a comeback. I just put my hand to my head and groaned again. Giles walked into his kitchen and came back a second later slapping an ice pack into my other hand. I looked at him graciously and pressed it against my forehead.   
  
Ah, sweet relief.   
  
"How do you feel?" He asked.   
  
"Like someone hit me with a bus."  
  
I felt someone's fingers wrap around my hand and give a reassuring squeeze. I looked down to see that they were Buffy's. When our eyes met she smiled softly.   
  
"Are you hurt badly?" She asked. "We could take you to the..."  
  
"No," I said more sharply than I meant to.   
  
She looked hurt for a second, but I didn't rush to apologize. I simply wasn't in the mood for that.   
  
"No broken bones," I said softly. "Just one hell of a headache and a few loose teeth."  
  
"What happened to you back there Xander?" Giles asked standing over me on the other side of the couch. "We heard screaming, saw lights..."  
  
"Lights?" I replied dumbly. "Screaming?"  
  
"You don't remember what happened?" Amy asked me.   
  
For a minute I really didn't. And it was the most peaceful minute I've ever had in my life. But then it all came back to me. Splitting up with Amy. Getting attacked. Using my power to fend him off. Using my power to...   
  
Oh god.   
  
I killed someone else.   
  
Four pairs of eyes watched me intently and I wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else. I'm kind of getting used to that feeling by now. I find it oddly comforting. Buffy's hand is still wrapped around mine and I when I talk I try my best not to look at her. A wise man would have come clean at that moment. He would have broken down and told those closest to him what was going on with him. It would make him feel better. It would put his mind at ease.   
  
I never said I was a wise man.   
  
I only told them what I wanted them to know.   
  
I told them that I remembered splitting off from Amy in the woods, which I did end up apologizing to her for. That was a really stupid move on my part, disregarding her safety like that. I told them one of the giant men attacked my from behind and knocked me around then... nothing.   
  
"Nothing?" Buffy asked.   
  
"Nothing," I confirmed.   
  
"What about the light," Giles probed, trying to get me to remember. "The screams?"  
  
Brief flashes of blinding crimson light and blood curdling screams filled my mind and I doubled over grabbing my temples. Pain, pain, pain. I'm getting sick of this routine.   
  
"I don't know," I mumbled wincing at the pulse in my temples. "It's all pretty vague, I can't..."  
  
My eyes wanted to close again. I wanted out of here. I wanted to go back to my house.   
  
"He was beating on me and I just blacked out. I'm sorry," I said in a voice I hoped sounded sincere.   
  
I hate lying.   
  
I hate having to lie.   
  
"I want to go home," I said.   
  
I could tell that they didn't want to let me go. They wanted me to stay so that they could patch me up. They wanted me stay there so I could rest and they could ask more questions. I was feeling better. I wasn't going to get home and suddenly die of a brain hemorrhage or anything.  
  
"Please," I asked. "I just want to go home."  
  
"Very well," Giles said reluctantly. "We'll talk more in the morning."  
  
"Okay," I replied.   
  
I was slow getting off the couch and Buffy still had to help me to stand.   
  
"Shouldn't we call your parents or something?" Amy asked.   
  
"They're not there," was my response.   
  
"I'll get him home," Buffy said to them.   
  
Giles watched me intently as she helped me to the door. I could see the gears in his mind twisting away. I knew he could tell that I was keeping something from him. But he didn't know what. So he could only look at me and wonder.   
  
Amy and Cordy also helped me out of Giles' place and to Amy's car, which she was letting Buffy use to drive me home. They set me down in the passenger seat and gently closed the door. The whispered to each other once the door was closed. I couldn't hear what they were saying but both Amy and Cordelia had strange looks on their faces when they turned to look at me while Buffy was still talking. I don't know what she could have been telling them. But luckily I didn't really care.   
  
Buffy finished saying whatever she had to say and Amy and Cordy tapped on the window and said good bye. She climbed into the driver seat and started the car. I felt her eyes on me but I didn't want to turn my head to look at her.   
  
"You really don't remember anything?" She asked.   
  
"I...," I began. "No."  
  
And she believed me.   
  
But I could tell she didn't really want to.  
  
***  
  
I really wished one of the perks of being a human/demon hybrid was miraculous self-healing.   
  
That would have been really great don't you think?  
  
But I don't. I'm supposed to be strong. I'm supposed to be tough. I think I used the term perk a bit too lightly before.   
  
Buffy still had to help me walk when we got to my house. Granted, I knew I was hurt and couldn't really walk under my own power it still hurt my miniscule amount of guy mentality a little that she had to help me up the small steps of my porch to my door. Yes I know she's always been stronger than me. And yes, I know she could still kick my ass. But I guess with my newly found heritage I just thought I should have been able to handle myself.   
  
It sucks being wrong.   
  
She turned on the living room light, which threw me off balance slightly. I hadn't seen it on in weeks. It felt like an unwelcome guest. Still, I shrugged it off as best I could and quickly adjusted the bright fluorescent glow. I collapsed onto my blessed sofa and started to take off my shoes. I felt her there as she lingered in the small hallway near my front door, watching me get rid of my shoes with a curious gaze. I managed to keep myself from telling her to leave. I wanted to be alone. I needed to think. Or, to be more exact, I needed to not think. My brain was overloaded. And the glow of the lamp was just pushing it that extra step. I want that fucking light to be turned off.  
  
But to my mild annoyance, she stayed there and the light was still burning. I saw her eyes gradually take in everything, from the skeletal cardboard remains of fast food boxes lying around the place to a lot of my clothes and other crap scattered here and there in no particular order. "You've been here by yourself for a while now haven't you," she said, trying to keep concern out of her voice. For a moment, I wasn't sure if it was a question or a casual observation, but then she asked, "is your dad still in Wyoming?"  
  
"Yeah. You know it's kind of funny. The man sobers up after fifteen years of alcoholism and decides he's the outdoor type." I said, laying down into the cushions letting the soft heavenly fell of them overtake me. "He's probably running around in a loincloth by now."  
  
"Yuck," said smiling. "Scary visual place." She walked over ands sat on the floor besides me, carefully avoiding an old box of chicken fried rice. It seemed a lot like the seating arrangement back at Giles' place. I felt her hair brush against my arm and suddenly I began to think that she made a pretty good distraction from my overzealous mind.  
  
"I don't think I've been this calm in weeks" I said softly. And it was true. I just can't believe I said something like it out loud.   
  
Her smile grew wider, and I felt my own mouth match it. And I took a second to enjoy the moment. It was nice. But...  
  
"Where's your mom been?" She asked innocently, and my smile vanished.  
  
"She's gone," I said calmly, turning on my back and moving to stare blankly at the ceiling again.  
  
"Where?" She probed gently. "Is she in Wyoming with your dad?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh. So where..."  
  
"Where did she go?"   
  
She nodded, her face now serious when she moved to sit on the edge of the couch so she could look at me more clearly. "Yeah."  
  
"She... Well she just..." I tried to think of somewhere she could have been. But no place good came to mind. I sighed and shrugged. As much as person can shrug when they're lying down. "I don't know," I finally admitted. "She didn't say."  
  
"Well then, how long is she going to be gone?"  
  
I shrugged once more and turned my eyes to my feet curled up underneath our old afghan blanket. "She didn't bother to share that with me," I said softly. "She took off without telling me." We sat in silence for a while. I could feel her staring at me while I kept staring at my feet in the blanket. I needed a better blanket. This one was full of holes.  
  
"Xander?"I heard her say my name so delicately, like I've never heard anyone ever say it in my life, like someone who really wanted to know what was on my mind.  
  
I wanted to tell her everything.  
  
I wanted to tell her who I was.  
  
I wanted to tell her who my father was and what he wanted me to do.  
  
I wanted to tell her the real reason why I knew that I never had a chance with her, despite the fact that she overlooked Angel's case of vampirism.  
  
But I settled for one small bit of truth. One that I couldn't regret sharing in the long run.  
  
I turned my head so we faced each other. She was still sitting on the edge of the couch and was looking down at me. Her eyes were gazing at me so seriously with a quiet angst and studying the lines of my face shadowed in the dim light of the living room lamp.   
  
"Have you ever felt so alone you feel like each and every day is a struggle just to open your eyes?" I asked her, so quietly I wasn't sure If I'd actually said it out loud or thought it out in my head. My voice didn't want to go on. I made it. "That world was not really this loving warm ball of sunshine, but a dank and empty black hole you merely coast through? And you can't do anything about it... because... there's nothing you can possibly say or do that'll ever make it better?"   
  
Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted just slightly. I shouldn't have said anything. I gave away too much. I think she believed I was speaking in a strictly metaphorical sense, she probably thought I'm just depressed. But still, I've let her in more than I should have. I've opened up far too much. That's not what scared me.  
  
She understood completely. I knew she did. It was written all over her face.  
  
Something shifted greatly in those eyes of hers I'd once thought sparkled in the moonlight. I could see nearly every thought coursing through her mind, every emotion with every breath and soft contact of our hands. I've gotten through to her somehow. And I never even meant to try. I had just received what I had wanted so desperately for years, and yet all that I felt inside was another lovely round of blind panic.  
  
"Xander?" She said even more delicately and hesitantly than before. I held my breath and my heart beat savagely in my ears. She lifted her hand and closed the short space between us, as if she wanted to touch me to make sure that I was really there, that I actually said something so profound.   
  
She's so close, oh god, she's so close to me.  
  
Her fingers touched my cheek as light as a feather, slowly moving up and down the skin. Her eyes still had that look in them and she moved even closer. I swallowed the lump in my throat audibly. Her lips were on mine before I could close my eyes and my mind was instantly at a dead calm. Everything was immediately forgotten in the intimate contact and I let myself relax just a little bit. She struggled to lie on the couch next to me, and after a minute or two of shifting around, she found a comfortable position. Our lips still tasted each other; her body was still flush against mine.   
  
And for those few blissful minutes I was just me.   
  
Not the son of a demon king. Not the soldier of deceit he wanted me to be. Not the Zeppo everyone else had thought I was.   
  
I was just Xander.   
  
The light didn't seem to bother me so much anymore. 


	5. Five

Buffy came over my house more often.   
  
We didn't do much. We just sat and watched TV on the couch. I know that may seem boring to most of you, but it was a refreshing change from most of our other activities. It was a time where we didn't have to be brave. Where we didn't have to risk our necks for the cause of good. Where I didn't have to lie just to save my own ass. We could just sit and watch bad movies or lame infomercials and make jokes and laugh. It was a time where we could just be. After the complete and utter chaos my life had become...   
  
Just being was exactly what I needed.   
  
She always sat close to me. We didn't snuggle or anything, but it was nice just to know that yes, there was a person that close to you. And yes, that person wanted to be there as much as you did. I tried to clean up most of the mess after she left that night we kissed, but I only got as far as picking up the boxes that were on the floor. I knew she didn't mind the clutter. I think she actually found it endearing.   
  
I haven't let her kiss me since that night.   
  
When we sit on the couch, I let her sit near me, and I let her hold my hand. And it's nice to feel the simple comfort of that small contact.   
  
But I don't let her kiss me.   
  
I realized that night that the kiss was mostly about me. What I wanted. What I needed. What helped *me* forget everything. Kissing is something that's meant to be built out of passion. Which I do admit I have somewhere inside of me, but it is drowned out by my need to forget. Kissing her makes me forget. And that's what I hate about it. I can't kiss her because it's her. I kiss her for me. That's not how it's supposed to go. Kissing isn't supposed to be selfish. So it doesn't happen.   
  
I did have a brief swell of ego when she protested, but I think she understood. That didn't mean she didn't tempt me.   
  
I make sure she's never around when my father calls.  
  
I didn't want to have to explain to her why she couldn't say hello even though he's sober. I don't want to have to explain to him what she'd be doing here in the first place. He called me the other day, just like clockwork. He told me to be cautious of more assassins coming my way. Apparently a small number of tribe members weren't exactly thrilled to have their seventeen-year absentee king suddenly return with his half-breed son. In their minds he'd sacrificed his throne the day he left. They were perfectly happy without him. They were perfectly *unhappy* about me. Despite the fact that I could become stronger than all of them, my part human status both disgusted and enraged them. I was an abomination. I'm using my father's words here. Who knew he was so well spoken? He said he was taking care of these "traitors" as best he could, but I should still watch my back.   
  
Aye, aye sir. Will do.   
  
So I have to be prepared for another bout with my own kind trying to kill me. Grand. I never wanted to see anyone of them ever again but I guess I don't have a choice in the matter. It's them or me.   
  
It's like a tug of war.   
  
Them, me, them, me.   
  
Who's going to fall into the pit of mud? Who's going to be blessed with glory?  
  
I want to give up sometimes.   
  
Let these rebels overthrow my father and take the tribe to any level of achievement they want. I don't really care as long as they stayed far, far away from me. Sounds like a good deal doesn't it? I'd be rid of my father and them all at the same time.   
  
Two birds.   
  
One stone.   
  
You know how it goes.   
  
It won't happen that way. I know that.   
  
Everything is going to come crashing down soon. I can feel it. It's like a dark gray cloud following me around. It's not directly over my head, not yet anyway. It's just sort of floating somewhere out there in the background, waiting for its moment to rain down on me and all my friends.   
  
They're going to find out eventually.   
  
It's a chilling fact to realize. But a person can only dodge the truth for so long.   
  
If I don't tell them one of these demons is bound to point me out when we run into them again. And if not, what if I had to use my power to defend myself? What if I had to use my power to save one of them? What if I had to use my power because the coals on the barbecue weren't hot enough?   
  
What if? What if? What if?  
  
I know I'm going to have to deal with it all soon enough.   
  
And I really don't want to.   
  
When I disembarked my train of thought Buffy's hand was still in mine, and she was laughing at some sitcom I wasn't paying any attention to. She playfully nudged me in the side and told me to watch. I looked at her, smiling softly at the cheap comedy being broadcast into the room. She was so beautiful. Guilt surfaced form somewhere deep inside of me and I had to turn away. She shouldn't have been here. I didn't deserve to have to her this close to me. I didn't deserve to receive any emotion she may be forming for me.   
  
She should go.   
  
I should be alone.   
  
She should be happy.   
  
I should be suffering.   
  
I almost told her she should leave. But then she leaned closer to me and rested her head on my shoulder. And once again her contact made my mind go blank. For the next few minutes it seemed like all was right in the world. That there could possibly be no wrong.   
  
I knew it wasn't real.   
  
But I let myself pretend.   
  
***  
  
It was cold when I opened my eyes.   
  
The second thing I noticed was that I wasn't in my bed. The third, I wasn't even in my house. I tried to open my eyes but the light hurt too badly. A breeze blew over me and sent chills all along my body. I felt sore everywhere. My ribs were stiff as hell, and my knees ached when I pushed myself onto them. I still kept my eyes closed but I realized that I didn't have a shirt on.   
  
I eased my eyes open just enough so that I could see the lower half of my chest and I wish I'd kept them closed. A ten-inch cut along my torso greeted me hello. It was caked with my own dried blood. Wow, it turned out I was red inside like everybody else. I had no idea where it came from. And I really didn't want to know.   
  
I used the wall next to me to stand on shaky legs and I dared to open my eyes more fully. And once again I wished I hadn't. I surrounded by piles of black smoldering ash, the calling card of a fried member of the tribe. It was everywhere. All over the walls that surrounded me, on my face, my feet, my hands.   
  
Holy shit, my hands.   
  
They looked like sun baked leather.   
  
They were charred dark brown and my palms were beat red. It looked like I had stuck them in an oven for thirty minutes. It wasn't pretty.   
  
My head throbbed.   
  
There was no sun overhead. Just an unexplainable light burning my eyes. My hands hurt; there was ash in my mouth, in my hair. There was blood on me. My blood. The cut on my chest stung.   
  
I heard a growl from somewhere.   
  
I fell back onto my knees and whatever it was growled even louder. I couldn't open my eyes again; the light was too bright and hurt too much. The growling seemed to come closer toward me and I couldn't see it. I felt its hot humid breath on my face suddenly. I nearly threw up it was so rank and rancid. But I couldn't open my eyes. I just couldn't.   
  
"Look me in the eyes," it roared. "Show me some damned respect."  
  
No.   
  
Oh god no.   
  
I blinked open my eyes as far as I could.   
  
Once again I wished I hadn't.   
  
Staring back at me, no more than two inches away, was my father's demon visage.   
  
His sharpened yellow fangs were exposed in a gangly grin, and he ran his snake like tongue over them.   
  
Is that what I really looked like?  
  
His large gray hands wrapped themselves around my wrists, the small nail-like claws cutting into my skin. He carefully examined the burn marks on my hands and grunted in disgust. He threw my hands away, the burns causing pain to twitch up and down the length of my arms.   
  
"Pathetic," he sneered. "Can't even destroy your enemies without destroying yourself."  
  
I wanted to argue.   
  
I wanted to defend myself to him in some odd form.   
  
But I didn't.   
  
I felt dizzy. The stench of my father and the ash of burned tribesman around us made me want to throw up. He grabbed my shoulders and lifted me high off the ground. I closed my eyes again, not wanting to see the anger on his hideous face.   
  
"You are Prince!" He shouted at me. "You must be strong. You must not let your own power get the best of you. You must not these humans influence you."  
  
Humans?  
  
What was he talking about?  
  
I opened my eyes again to see Buffy magically appear in his grasp. What the fuck was going on? How did she get here? What was he doing with her?  
  
"I blame myself," he said. "I'd let you think you were one of them for too long."  
  
He lifted her easily with his other hand and threw me back to the ground. I coughed wildly as ash clouded around me. I looked back to my father and immediately shouted my dismay at the sight before me. He had the lower half of Buffy's body completely wrapped in his left hand, while he held her head in the right. She looked at me with helpless eyes and mouthed my name.   
  
"You must sever all human ties," my father said authoritively.   
  
He easily snapped her neck and threw her lifeless body to the ground.   
  
"And then we shall rule."  
  
I screamed.   
  
I screamed with anguish far beyond anything I'd ever felt in my life.   
  
He'd killed her like it was nothing.   
  
He'd acted like it was nothing.   
  
He was about to be nothing.   
  
I aimed my crimson vengeance straight at his disgusting face and I let loose more power than I ever had before. My hands burned, my body ached, and still I let it go. He roared in pain and surprise and I lost him as a black shadow buried in my power's light.   
  
I screamed and screamed and screamed.   
  
And woke up in cold sweat on my living room floor.   
  
And no matter what I did.   
  
I couldn't stop shaking.   
  
***  
  
I didn't speak to anyone that day.   
  
I couldn't bear to see Buffy after what I had dreamed. Because I knew it was more than that. Dreams always meant more than what you saw in them. It was a vision of things to come. Horribly symbolic as it may have been didn't make it any less true. My time was coming. My little charade was almost at an end. The next few days were going to be like running through the gauntlet. My lies and my senses would all be tested far beyond any limit I ever wanted to tap inside of myself. Back and forth, back and forth. Evade capture, hide from the enemy. Which enemy? Let no one see anyone else.   
  
It was going to be hell.   
  
How do I know this you ask?  
  
How was I so sure I'd be doing all this running around?  
  
That's easy.   
  
My father came back. 


	6. Six

It was kind of funny how the seven-foot plus tall members of the tribe would cower at the sight of my father's smaller, more compact frame. All their power and bravado at the sight of me walking in instantly fading away when he came into view. I watched as their lips began to quiver, knees began to shake, and a few hands closing over a few mouths. It was kind of funny seeing these giants trembling and mumbling and some even weeping like little babies.   
  
In reality this was the last place on earth I wanted to be.   
  
My father wanted me to be there.   
  
I had no choice.   
  
I looked at him and the calm smile that never left his face.  
  
You have no idea how much that smile scared me.   
  
We'd found the refugee's of the pack I'd encountered holed up in an abandoned warehouse down by the docks. I swear that area in primetime real estate for monsters. It was a step up from that shack in the wood I'd seen them at. Nearly thirty of them stood stock still, weeping to themselves. They knew no mercy would be shown to them, yet they still begged for it. My father showed no reaction to their pleas. And after a few minutes of the big stare down I heard the prayers change from one's of to mercy, to death being quick and painless.   
  
"You keep your eyes open son," my father said to me, his voice so cool and collected. "You see what we do to traitors."  
  
His raised his hands above his head and a rumble of miserable moans passed through the crowd. I lifted my own hand to my eyes to shield them from the blinding light of the power about to spew forth, but it never came. It was eerily silent as well. I put my hands down and looked to see every single man, minus my father and I, twitching uncontrollably.   
  
For that first second I'm confused.   
  
I didn't understand exactly what he was doing.   
  
Did we just give traitors nervous ticks?  
  
How could this possibly show me any..?  
  
That's when smoke started to rise from their bodies. Thick black clouds pouring out of them.  
  
I didn't understand.   
  
There was no blinding light of energy to focus on. Nothing to show me that yes, these men were being punished for their attempted coup. All I recognized was the smoke. And at that moment it seemed kind of meaningless. Try to kill the prince and what do you get? Some singed skin and a case of the shakes? Woopdeefrickin'do.   
  
And then the screaming started.   
  
Terrifying wails of agony filling the empty warehouse with an enormous irruption of sound.   
  
I fell to my knees when I realized what my father was doing.   
  
He was cooking them from the inside out.   
  
Could I do that? Would I do that?  
  
I looked up at my father expecting to see some sadistic joy on his face. Something to feed the fire of my hatred toward him. But I saw nothing. His face was a blank slate. For the first time since I was eight years old... I wanted my mother.   
  
I retched when the smell hit me.   
  
Let me guess? Gross right? Well you try to hold your lunch when you catch the aroma of disgusting demon organs roasting like a Christmas goose. We'll see how long your turkey sandwich stays down then won't we?  
  
Slowly the howls of their pain began to fade away as I heard the sound of each of them collapse into a heap on the ground. I refused to look back up at my father, staring intently at the gray concrete floor. He was speaking to me but I was nowhere near listening to him. My eyes grew heavy, the thick blackness in my mind weighing them down. I collapsed to the ground and the blackness moved to claim my whole body.   
  
I welcomed it with open arms.   
  
***  
  
My father left me there.   
  
I woke up on the cold concrete floor in the same position I'd collapsed in. My head was still spinning and my stomach still in knots. The puddle of my own vomit still lay a foot away, mocking me for my own lack of control. I looked around but couldn't see anything. It was pitch black. The stench of charred remains still hung heavy in the air and threatened to send me back to the floor, but pushed myself to my feet and stumbled around on weak knees. It was too dark to see where a door was. It took another full minute of two to realize that I didn't even need a flashlight or some matches.   
  
Forgive me for not realizing the obvious right away.   
  
I'm still adjusting.   
  
I clenched my fist closed and gently willed a small beam of light to radiate from my hand. The soft red glow allowed me to see a few feet in front of me and maybe even be able to find a way out. Too bad it was another bonehead mistake.   
  
Thirty blank faces stared back at me with eyes melted right out of their skulls.   
  
Deranged faces.   
  
Unflinching faces.   
  
Unblinking faces.   
  
Inhuman faces.   
  
Dead faces.   
  
They weren't burned to ash like my own power tended to do. This was different. This was deliberate. I knew my father had left them whole for a reason. Sure they were burned out blackened shells of what they used to be, but whole just the same. In death their human forms reverted back to their true form. My stomach clenched as I stared at the rotting flesh of my true body, and bit my hand to keep the bile back. I knew my father had left me and them here on purpose. He did it so I could see what would happen to those who opposed us. Even member of our own tribe wouldn't be spared. This is what he wanted me to learn. This is what he wanted me to do. I was getting damn sick of his lessons.   
  
I found my way out in the dark.   
  
***  
  
It was raining when I finally made it outside. It didn't bother at all. I felt so dirty after the whole night I felt like I needed a shower anyway. The rain was cold and clean. The streets of Sunnydale unwound in front of me as I walked aimlessly all over town. I wasn't up to going back to my house yet. I didn't want to see my father again. Not now, maybe not ever. I was tired, so tired of everything. I'd reached a point where I was just tired of being me.   
  
For a second I thought about putting my own hand to my head and just turning it to vapor.   
  
It would have been so easy.   
  
Just one little move, one little thought and it all would be over.   
  
I threw my hands up in the air and twirled around in the rain laughing at my own stupidity.   
  
I may have been slowly going crazy. But I wasn't *that* stupid.   
  
Besides.   
  
There was no way I was going to die without taking my father with me.   
  
***  
  
I don't know how long I roamed around, kicking through puddles, letting myself get soaked to the bone. Time wasn't important. My destination wasn't a factor. But slowly, almost surely, my body kept leading me to a familiar neighborhood. And without even realizing it I was suddenly right in front of her house. I briefly thought about the last time I was here. She and I laughed together in her kitchen, making funny faces at each other and choking on our apple juice. It was only four days ago. How can a person suddenly feel so old in such a short amount of time?  
  
Oh wait...  
  
Nevermind.   
  
The tree on the side of the house wasn't that hard to climb. I can see why it was so easy for Angel to perch himself here night after night. And... I really didn't want to think about that much more. I sat on the small bit of roof in front of her window, struggling for traction on the rain-slicked tiles. As soon as I saw her sleeping peacefully on her bed I felt a little better.   
  
Okay.   
  
I felt a lot better.  
  
It was something I couldn't explain.   
  
It was something I didn't want to explain.   
  
I tapped on her window and instantly she shot out of bed. That's one of the benefits of slayer instincts right there. No one could get the drop on you when you were sleeping. She came to the window with stake in hand and opened it slowly.   
  
"Xander?" She nearly shouted when she saw that it was me. "What are you doing..."?  
  
She didn't finish her sentence as she looked me up and down and quickly grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked me inside. It was the warmth of her room to make me realize how cold I was. My teeth chattered loudly and she ran out for a second. She came back with a towel and wrapped it around my shoulders before pulling me into an embrace.  
  
"You're soaked," she said. "What are you doing walking around in the rain at this time of night?"  
  
I still don't know what possessed me.   
  
I collapsed into her arms and she held onto me like I was a small child. I was grateful for her presence. She knew I was hurting. She knew exactly how to handle me. She cooed words that meant nothing into my ear, just making her voice as soothing as possible. It was so nice that the guilt inside threatened to eat me alive. I wrapped my arms tightly around her. Wanting to squeeze the cold out, wanting to let her warmth fill in the hollowness my body had become. I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks and made no effort to hide them. She just rocked me back and forth. We'd always been friends but right then she was my lifeline. The last remaining staple in my human existence. She's what kept me human. She's what kept me wishing to remain that way.   
  
I...  
  
I loved her.   
  
Of course I've always had. But this was different. Because somehow I knew that somewhere out in the realm of possibility was the chance that she might actually love me back. Despite the lies. Despite what I was. It was a comforting thought floating in the vortex of chaos in my mind. She loved Angel. He was a vampire. I was a demon. She could love me just the same. At least I hoped she could. Because I was pretty sure I needed her too.   
  
"What is it?" She asked gently. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I..."  
  
"You can tell me."  
  
No I can't.  
  
"I..."  
  
Yes I can.  
  
"Well..."  
  
She pulled me onto her bed and placed my head in her lap. She ran her hands softly over my wet hair and waited patiently for me to get the words out. They didn't seem to want to move passed my tongue. I clung to her like she was a life raft saving me from the savagery of the sea. I was drowning in my own thoughts and deceptions and lies. I was sinking to the bottom, the air leaving my lungs with each passing second.   
  
"Please," I managed to gasp out. "Could we... Could we just lie here for awhile? No questions?"  
  
"Sure Xand," she replied smiling down at me.   
  
"Thank you," I said closing my eyes. "I just need to feel human for awhile."  
  
I could feel her curiosity at my words and the fact that she did nothing to hide it. I made myself a promise. After all she'd done for me these last few weeks, the closer we'd become, the feelings that were slowly beginning to build into something. The least I could do for her was to tell her the truth.   
  
Fuck all the consequences that might come.   
  
In that moment I wanted to share with her the only thing in the world I'd ever kept from Willow. My precious secret that could possibly be my undoing. But I was too tired to get the words out. My eyes grew heavy and with my last ounce of strength I lifted her hand to my lips and gently kissed it. The only sigh of affection I had the energy for. One last look at her face and I knew she was smiling. In the morning I would tell her everything.   
  
I fell asleep wishing tomorrow would never come. 


	7. Seven

I woke up to a warm ray of sunshine reaching its friendly hand across my face. The feeling of it was so foreign to me it caused me to jerk upright and nearly fall out of the bed. It took another second to realize that it wasn't even my bed. My mind filled with questions as soon as I opened my eyes.   
  
Why weren't the curtains drawn? Why was I still in my clothes? Since when did I get girly looking wallpaper?  
  
Oh...  
  
Right.   
  
I wasn't in my house.   
  
I should have realized it the second I felt the sheets. Mine weren't this comfortable. I knew the bed was empty, but I still reached my hand to the side where she slept next to me. For a second I already missed the warmth she created. Throwing my feet over the side I rubbed the remaining sleep from my eyes. I wondered where she went. My stomach wrenched painfully when I remembered my promise. I had to tell her. But she wasn't there. Sleep had nearly erased my desire to set the truth free and her absence nearly... Well, I didn't want to think any more about that.   
  
I put my hands back on the bed to push myself up and found a piece of paper resting on the comforter. It was a note from Buffy. I felt the smile threatening to cover my face.   
  
It said:  
  
---  
Dear Xander,   
  
Sorry I didn't wake you when I got up, but you look so peaceful lying there. It's the calmest I've seen you in weeks. You always... Well you always seem like you're somewhere else lately. Like you've got an appointment you just can't get to? I don't know how to explain it to you... I know something is wrong Xander. You wouldn't have shown up at my window last night like that if there weren't. Is it your father? Are you two fighting again now that he's back? Are you still sad about your mom? I wish you could tell me. I think you want to. I don't know why I think that but I do. I just want to help you. I just want you to want me to help you...   
  
You look so peaceful sleeping there...  
  
By the time you read this I should be at the Espresso Pump with Willow and Oz. Sorry to just kind of leave you here. I hope it doesn't bother you too much. Mom's at work already, so I don't think you have to worry about any kind of awkward confrontation with her. You should show. Willow would be happy to see you. I know I would...  
  
Love,   
Buffy  
---  
  
I folded up the letter and put it in my pocket. For a second I couldn't move. I took the letter out and reread it. She was watching me sleep. She sat at her desk and watched me sleep. My mind wouldn't bend around the thought of that. I shook my head thinking it would help. It didn't. I looked at the alarm clock next to her bed. It was eleven o'clock. I guess I was more tired than I thought. I never let myself sleep this late anymore. I put on my soggy shoes and made my way downstairs. I double-checked for any sign of Joyce. I didn't want to have to explain what I was doing in her daughter's room when she wasn't there.   
  
I was sure to lock her front door when I left. I looked back at the house briefly, and stopped dead when I reached the end of the walkway. I had no idea where to go. The options weren't exactly glowing with optimism. I could go back to my house and earn a lecture on discipline and self-control from my father, or I could go to the Espresso Pump and tell Buffy and everyone why I've been acting so weird lately.   
  
The dragons tail or the tiger's head.   
  
Decisions, decisions.   
  
I picked a direction and started walking.   
  
***  
  
When I reached the front door of my house I prayed that my father wasn't there. I knew he was, but that still didn't keep the small shimmer of hope in my mind from forming. I kept telling myself that I was just here for a change of clothes. I wasn't chickening out. I was just going to get a clean pair of jeans and a shirt that didn't smell like rained on, slept in, mildew. And some shoes that didn't make that annoying squish sound when I walked.   
  
I opened the door as quietly as I could and shot toward the stairs. I was about halfway up when my father called after me. I hung my head in defeat and slowly turned to go toward the kitchen. I could already imagine him in his crisp suit (I'm still not used to seeing that), sitting at the kitchen table with the paper in hand about ready to tear me down for being so weak last night. I should have gone for coffee.   
  
I stepped into the kitchen, my shoes making a louder squish against the hardwood floor. My father's eyebrows raised at the sound but he didn't say anything about it. Sure enough, he sat at the table in a freshly ironed black suit with the newspaper in hand. We stared at each other in a face off straight out of a Clint Eastwood movie. Any second I expected someone to shout "draw" and we'd see who finally chose to speak first. My father did. If this were the old west I'd have been dead.   
  
"One of your little friends came by earlier," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion.   
  
"Really?" I asked, trying to keep my voice the same.   
  
"Amy I believe her name was," he told me. "She wanted to know if everything was okay. That you've been 'really out of it' lately. Care to tell me what she meant?"   
  
"I don't know," I replied.  
  
"Don't take me for a fool son," he reprimanded. "It's bad enough you're still fraternizing with these...these..."   
  
"These what?"  
  
"These humans," he spit out.   
  
I thought you wanted me to "infiltrate" the slayer and her friends you contradicting bastard.   
  
"Well," I began lamely. "When you harbor a secret as big as the one you laid on me this summer, the people around him are going to notice something is bothering him."  
  
"Are you telling me what you are bothers you?"  
  
Yes. Are you that goddamn blind?  
  
"No."  
  
"Then would you like to explain to me what you mean?"  
  
He was too damn calm. I couldn't talk to him when he was like this. I needed him to slur, to stumble around in shambles. To be drunk beyond even remembering my name. I needed him to yell at me so I could yell back. It was the only way we'd ever really communicated. This... Well I don't know what the fuck this was. But it wasn't anything I liked.   
  
"I..."  
  
"No," he interrupted lifting a hand to silence me. "I think I understand."  
  
Well that was fast Sherlock.   
  
"You do?"  
  
"It's my own fault," he said shaking his head. "I let the charade go on to long."  
  
He stood up from the table and wandered over to one of the cabinets. He pulled out a barrage of liquor bottles and arranged them on the counter in a line. Not so fond memories of those bottles permanently attached to his and my mother's mouths filled my mind. Good. Maybe if he took the damn tie off and had a shot I could talk to him.   
  
"These," he said pointing at the bottles. "Were a learning tool."  
  
Now that's the last description of alcohol I ever expected to hear in my life. A learning tool for what?   
  
"I had to show you how disgusting and horrendous the human race could be," he said. "So that you found out what you truly were you'd despise them as much as me. We're above them son. So far above them yet they infest this planet like locusts. No one really sees how useless they can be. Not unless they have uncontrolled dependencies on substances such as these."   
  
He pointed back to the bottles again.   
  
"Anyone can turn his or her noses at a drunk, son. Even humans themselves find it disgusting. I spent years trying to show you how bad they could be. How low they could sink. So you could see that they didn't deserve this world."  
  
Oh, and we do?   
  
"I let you believe you were one of them too long and it's hard to let go. I understand that. But you see..."  
  
I tuned him out after that. I didn't want to hear that the worst years of my life were meant to be good for me. It was like getting punched in the face and being told it was medicine. So I was supposed to hate all humans because of the horrible monsters they *could* be? Not even Vegas would give you decent odds on how a person was going to turn out. It wasn't your place to judge. It's not my place to hate everyone. I hate only specific things and all of them have to do with me on a personal level.   
  
The size of his arrogance amazed me.   
  
He couldn't even see what a miserable failure his plan was.   
  
His pretending to be a drunken louse all of my life didn't make me hate the human race.   
  
It just made me hate him.   
  
***  
  
I could only stare at their smiling faces from a distance.   
  
I thought that this was the last place I'd end up. Nearly every instinct called for me to run. But there I stood. Watching Buffy, Willow, and Oz laugh it up inside the Espresso Pump. I knew I didn't belong there. I had no place in laughter anymore. Still, I was trying to find the words for what I would say to them. But my mind was so full of spite for my father I wasn't exactly thinking straight. I would have done anything to piss him off at this point. I know telling my friends all about him would have done the trick but I didn't want it to be like that. I wanted to tell them because *I* was ready to. Because *I* felt that they would understand. Because *I* promised myself I would.  
  
Me. Me. Me.   
  
I didn't want my father anywhere near this.   
  
I better move soon. The pains in my stomach were threatening to turn into an ulcer. I stepped out into the street and had about half second to see the car. I never even heard it before...  
  
Wham!   
  
This would teach you to look both ways before crossing the street.   
  
Wham!  
  
The car sliding underneath my legs so quickly, flipping my body helplessly into the air.   
  
Wham!   
  
The sound of my shoulder sending the windshield into a hailstorm of broken glass.   
  
Wham!  
  
The metal folding underneath my weight as I continued my roll onto the roof, my arms and legs still flailing helplessly in mockery of a back flip.  
  
Wham!  
  
The hard, unforgiving asphalt of the road taking the crash of my body with unrelenting harshness.   
  
Wham!  
  
My hands and feet smacking the ground with a reverbing slap as I rolled once, twice more, before coming to a stop in the middle of the street.   
  
I heard someone shout for an ambulance and the rush of other people running up to me, their voices all a mix of shock and concern.   
  
"Are you all right?" "Don't move!" "Help is on the way."  
  
I groaned and tried to push myself onto my knees, a surprised gasp escaped from the crowd with the fact that I could move at all. More people shouted that I should lie still. I felt no pain. Nothing on me hurt. No scrapes, no bruises, no broken bones. I was fine. The only real damage was to my clothes, and that was really no big loss. You see, my father forgot to mention something else to me back in Wyoming when I was learning all about my heritage. A major detail about my anatomy I know he left out for some reason that only made sense to him. Only a member of the tribe could hurt us. Well, more accurately, hurt me. The royal bloodline gave us a one up on the other tribesman, and that made my father damn near impenetrable. The only thing that could hurt him was...   
  
Well of course he didn't tell me that.   
  
And while we're at it here's yet another fun fact about the mind and body. Not knowing this fact throughout my life resulted in a few injuries and broken bones. Because you simply can't use something if you don't know it exists. The only real damage that could be done to me was my own power. Had I known this that night in the woods I wouldn't have used so much and saved myself a headache.   
  
I pushed myself to my feet and shrugged off the would-be helpers. The rest of the crowd backed away and gave me room, but the next thing I knew arms were throwing themselves around my neck followed by a chorus of "omigods." I looked down to a mess of red hair crushing itself into my chest.   
  
"Willow" I managed to squeeze out as he arms wound tighter. "Need air..."   
  
"Sorry," she said loosening her grip a little.   
  
Another set of arms rushed at me from the side as Buffy pressed herself as close against me as she could get.   
  
*Oh.*   
  
*God.*   
  
It didn't take a genius to figure out they'd seen everything from their window seat in the coffee shop. I bet there wasn't a soul on that street that didn't see what happened. I knew that all their assumptions about me were answered in that the one flash of an instant where I was mowed down and came up unharmed. While all summer long they could only be suspicious about what *could* be wrong with me. They'd now seen something to flat out say that there *was* something wrong with me.   
  
Willow and Buffy escorted me to a bench nearby on the sidewalk to wait until an ambulance would come. The urge to bail was strong. So much so that my legs actually shook with anticipation for the run.   
  
Flee, flee, flee. My mind was yelling at me. You can't stay here. Not when they've just seen what they've seen. Not when they *knew* something was definitely up.   
  
I couldn't run with a witch and a slayer flanking each side of me. I was trapped.   
  
"I'm okay;" I tried to assure them. "I'm okay."   
  
They both hugged me tighter as we sat down on the bench and I couldn't seem to get either one of them to let go.   
  
"Hate to be the one to spoil the moment," Oz finally spoke up. "But why is it that you are okay? That car was going pretty fast and it looked like a pretty gnarly hit. Even I know milk doesn't make bones that strong."  
  
Crap.  
  
"Uh..." I mumbled. "Well you see..."  
  
I'm really a near invulnerable half-demon hybrid destined and well capable for the mass destruction of Earth. I'm supposed to help my father send it back into the olden times of fire and brimstone and chaos. Something that sounds like a whole lot of fun and includes killing all of you in the process. Does that about sum it up? Did I leave anything out?   
  
All three of them were eagerly awaiting my answer and my stomach clenched overtime.   
  
"Listen," I gasped out quietly. "Listen carefully. Because I don't think any one of you is going to believe me..." 


	8. Eight

My mouth moved to say more, but my tongue seemed to trip over my teeth and the words stumbled into oblivion. I opened it once more to try again and all that came out was...  
  
"I..."  
  
Damn it.   
  
"I..."  
  
"Are you sure you're all right Xander?" Willow asked.   
  
"Yeah," Oz threw in. "You don't look so good. I'm thinking the hospital is a pretty good option."  
  
Are you all right? Are you sure? Were you the one involved in the accident? Is everything blurry?  
  
All the questions weren't helping me. Wait, what?  
  
I looked up to the shoulder length brunette locks of the paramedic staring down at me. Funny, I didn't hear or see the ambulance pull up. I think I nodded at her question because she gently pulled on my arm to help me up and led me over to the ambulance. She told Buffy, Willow, and Oz to wait on the bench and that I'd been done in a few minutes. She sat me down on the back and started checking my pulse and vital signs. I didn't like it when she shined that little pen light into my eyes.   
  
"Any dizziness?" She asked. "Disorientation? Pains in your chest or back? Any difficulty breathing?"  
  
No to all of the above. I swear I'm fine. Nothing can hurt me anymore. Well, physically anyway. That blood pressure thing (I never learned the name of those) won't do anything. That stethoscope won't show you anything. Sitting here and barely paying attention to my examination wasn't doing anything. Vaguely looking at my friends concern wasn't doing anything. Hell, even telling them everything wasn't going to make the facts go away. I was a lost cause. Nothing and no one could help me. Before I could help it I was off and running again.   
  
Yeah.   
  
I know.   
  
I'm a fucking coward.   
  
Didn't I say that before?  
  
***  
  
I don't know how long I ran. The city streets flew by me in a blur of concrete and stucco. Nothing but garbled shapes and sounds whizzing past as I moved. One true benefit of lengthy physical exertion is that your mind can't think. It can only focus on ways to keep your body moving. Now I know joggers say they use their time running to think and plan and whatever, but they run at a slow and steady pace, so thinking is possible with them. Me? I was running at full blast. My mind didn't focus on anything in particular. Well, nothing of importance anyway. I was just going at a lung burning, muscle aching, gasping for breath run. It was too focused on my body to process any of my emotions. And that was such a good thing let me tell you.   
  
Why?  
  
Because I think too damn much.   
  
***  
  
Boom.   
  
I think people talked about what happened that day for years afterward. The unexplained thunderclaps in the middle of August on a bright and sunny day, and the amount of damage they inflicted on a small section of the woods. How trees and rocks were blown into thousands of scattered pieces and charred black. The Fire Department tried to say it was a brushfire, but no one really accepted that scenario. It didn't explain the blown up debris and the burn marks were too random to be a fire. Others said it was a bunch of punk kids armed with M-80's just having some fun. That theory went over a little better with the public, it made more sense, but some said the sound was too loud and the destruction too extensive to be caused by fireworks. Whatever explanation people tried to reassure themselves with was fine by me. I'm just lucky no one decided go for a hike that day.   
  
Boom.   
  
Another tree exploded in a blast of bark and woodchips, smoke rising up from the remains.   
  
Boom.  
  
Another rock blasted into a rain of pebbles sprinkling across the landscape.   
  
Boom. Boom. Boom.   
  
It's amazing how much damage can be caused when one has the means to manifest his gigantic build of frustration and self loathing into a concentrated beam of energy. I think my father would have been proud of me in those minutes, because in that short amount of time I wanted to destroy everyone and everything around me. I wanted it all to end. I didn't care how.   
  
Boom.   
  
Another blast of crimson light and another shower of wooden debris.   
  
Everytime I used my power and took aim I saw my father's face. Every other time I saw my own. It just made the explosions bigger. Because I hated the both of us. 'Coward' echoed in my brain on a continuous loops. It only fueled the fire, but deep down I knew blowing up the world wasn't going to make the description any less true. Still, in those moments I sure felt like trying. I'm not sure how long I was there playing demolition man. It wasn't the kind of activity you kept time for. All I know is that after blasting for what felt like forever, I just collapsed to my knees and couldn't seem to catch my breath. My hands were smoldering against the dry grass on the ground and I lifted them to how red and raw they'd turned. You would have thought I stuck them in the oven for ten minutes.   
  
I was exhausted.   
  
I didn't know that using that much power could drain me so much. I didn't even have the energy to turn around when I heard her. I should have known she would have followed me. She was the only one who could have kept up. She walked toward me cautiously, like any moment I would have snapped my head around and zapped her to dust too. I couldn't really blame her for thinking that. Could you?   
  
"So this what you've been hiding," she said so quietly it was more to herself than to me.   
  
The tone of her voice was too calm. Wasn't she shocked? Wasn't she afraid? How would you react if you saw one of your friends blowing things up with his bare hands? Don't you think that would be a little weird? Wouldn't you at least have some kind of fucking twinge in your voice? She reminded me of my father and his irritating sense of calm. She was supposed to be surprised. She was supposed to be outraged that I'd been lying to her and everyone for all this time. I wanted a stronger reaction. Hell I *needed* a stronger reaction. Instead she only stood there and I could only grunt in response, my body too weary for words.   
  
She didn't move any closer to me, keeping a safe distance a few feet behind. I don't know what she could have been thinking, but more importantly, I didn't want to know. If she just wanted to stand there and take in all that I'd done it was fine by me. But she didn't. It only took a few minutes for the questions to begin.   
  
"How did this happen?" She asked in that same 'walking on eggshells' tone. As if the slightest stir would get me going again.   
  
"You saw how."  
  
"No, I mean how did it happen? You couldn't do these things before."  
  
"It didn't just happen," I mumbled. "I've always been like this."   
  
I could hear the tiny gasp escape her throat and the sound of her eyes blinking rapidly.   
  
"And you never said anything?"  
  
"I never knew," I said. "Believe me I didn't. Otherwise I would have been a lot more helpful in the fight from day one don't you think?"   
  
"Xander..."  
  
"I didn't know Buffy. Honest. God I wish I still didn't know..."  
  
I hoped she could hear the self-disgust in my voice. Something, anything to get her to react in some way besides asking these questions.   
  
But, she just let what I said sink in for a bit. I had to fight the urge to close my eyes. God I was tired. Still, this was not the time or place to take a nap. I felt her move closer. Like the mouse moving closer to the cheese, hesitant, unsure if the trap would spring. She didn't know I was too weak to hurt her. I was a little miffed she was acting like I'd hurt her at all. But I guess that everyone is afraid of what they don't know on some level. Finally she sat down next to me, still keeping a respectful distance mind you, and didn't say anything for awhile though I could feel the questions radiating off of her.   
  
"So what are..." She began.  
  
"Demon," I interrupted. "That's what I am. That's why I can blow things up. That's why I wasn't hurt. I'm the scourge of humanity Buffy. A disgusting monster whose sole purpose is to destroy the world."  
  
I shook my head in disgust. It felt so weird saying it out loud.   
  
"I'm a goddamn demon."   
  
I don't think I'd ever seen her eyes so wide. She opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out and she sat there with it hanging open. At last, something to show me that yes, this was a big surprise to her.   
  
"Trying to catch flies?" I asked.   
  
I felt her relax a little. All it took was a lame joke to assure her that I was still the same old Xander.   
  
"You're not disgusting," she said.   
  
Another grunt from me. Too calm. Too goddamn calm.   
  
"How did you find out?"  
  
"My father."  
  
"Is he..? I mean is he one..."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What about your mom?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh. Is that why she left?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"That must have been hard," she sympathized.   
  
"I'm dealing," I replied.   
  
"Were you kidding about destroying the world?"  
  
"Kind of."  
  
"What do you mean kind of?"  
  
"Well, my father wants to. It's like this whole big agenda with him. 'Destroy the human race and place Earth back into the olden days of death and demon rule.' He wants me to help. Says it's my destiny."   
  
"You're not serious," she said flatly.   
  
Yes, that's right I'm lying. Witness me lie.   
  
"Afraid so."  
  
"What kind of demon are you then?"  
  
"Tribe of the Fallen."  
  
"Never heard of them."  
  
"Giles probably has."  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
"Dad says we're a pretty big deal in the demon world. One of the ancients. Hence all the nifty powers."  
  
"You're really not kidding."  
  
I waved my hand around us. "I told you I wasn't."  
  
"That pile of ashes in the alley, those demons in the woods that night... That *was* you. You did that to them..."   
  
"I did."  
  
"But why? Who were they?"  
  
"They were all tribesmen. Fellow demons. They were trying to kill me."  
  
"Why did they want to kill you?"  
  
"Because they hate their king and his little half-breed son. My dad left them for seventeen years Buffy. They weren't exactly pleased when he came back to rule over them like nothing had changed."  
  
"You're the prince the man who attacked Willow was talking about."  
  
Damn, now she gets perceptive.  
  
"I am."  
  
"And you still didn't say anything?" She didn't seem too happy that I'd let that one opportunity pass me by.   
  
"I couldn't."  
  
"Liar."  
  
"More than you realize."  
  
She let it drop. No use crying over spilt milk. Huh, you know I never really understood that saying. Oh well, I guess it doesn't matter.   
  
"What did you mean by half-breed?" She asked.   
  
"I said my mom wasn't a demon. The makes me only a half-breed."  
  
"Well, that doesn't sound as bad," she offered.   
  
"It doesn't make it any better," I replied.   
  
I do have to admit that the whole conversation was running more smoothly than I thought it would. And I was surprised she was being so accepting of it so quickly. But, it wasn't exactly what I wanted. I never get what I want. Of course when you think about it I shouldn't have been so surprised. We did live on the mouth of hell after all. It wasn't the weirdest thing we'd ever have to deal with. Me turning out to be a monster? Small potatoes. She sat quietly next to me surveying the damage I'd done. Just staring and everything, looking back to me every few seconds, like she had to reassure herself that yes I was the one who'd done it and yes, she'd seen me do it. It felt like hours before she spoke again.   
  
"You could have told us before," she said. "We could have dealt with it together. Everyone would have helped you, you know."  
  
"I couldn't tell anyone," I muttered.   
  
"You know you could have," she insisted.   
  
No, no I don't think so.   
  
"I was afraid."  
  
"Of us?"  
  
"Of me, of everything. Listen Buff, I know you would have been the most understanding person if I'd said something before. You know better than anyone else how life as we know it can change in an instant. That all it took was for someone to come along and tell you that you were different. My whole life I was normal. There was nothing special about me and I was fine with that. But this..." I said waving my hands around once more. "I'm a demon Buffy. A *demon.* You know, the kind of thing we go around killing all the time? I was, well I still am, disgusted with myself. I'm unnatural Buffy. I shouldn't exist. I couldn't tell you because... Hell, I couldn't even say it out loud."   
  
"I understand," she said softly. "But not all demons are bad..."  
  
"Trust me. I'm a bad one."  
  
"How can you be so sure?"  
  
"You know what I was supposed to be doing while my father was still away?" I challenged her. "I was supposed to be reporting to him everything you did. All the things you slayed, how you fought them, how you killed them. He called every week to check in."  
  
There.   
  
That *had* to have gotten something from her. Wouldn't you at least gasp if someone told you they had to spy on you? I don't know what made me start saying all of this to her. She didn't really need to know that particular detail, but I guess I couldn't hold it in any longer after all the silence.   
  
"Why?" She asked. "So he could kill me?"  
  
I looked at her sadly. "So *I* could kill you."  
  
Bingo.   
  
That did it.   
  
She looked away after that and I thought the conversation was over. That we'd part our separate ways, and she'd tell the others and the plan to destroy me would be formed. But she didn't move. After another long pause she said.  
  
"But you didn't."   
  
I couldn't say anything in return.   
  
"Did you want to?"  
  
"Buffy," I said genuinely hurt. I was appalled that she'd even considered the slightest possibility that I'd ever even think of killing her. "I... You actually though I could..."  
  
She leaned closer to me. When did she get so close?  
  
"Why not?" She asked.   
  
"You know why not."  
  
Then she was kissing me. We hadn't kissed since that one night. You never really notice how much you miss something until you get it back. To feel her lips on mine resulted in the original calming affect I'd felt the first time. But it was different, it meant so much more to me. She knew what I was. She knew what I was capable of. She knew who my father was and what I was destined to do. Yet here she was, kissing me regardless of it all. I broke it off and rested my head against her shoulder. I didn't want her to see me crying again but some things you just can't help. After the most emotionally gut wrenching turbulent summer of my life, it felt so good to have it all out in the open. The need to hide, to stay silent, to run away all faded into the background.   
  
I felt free.   
  
"It doesn't matter if you're a demon, or half-demon or whatever," she said rubbing my back gently. "You're not evil Xander. You could never hurt anyone or me, I know that."  
  
I nodded into her shoulder and held on tighter.   
  
"You are taking this in stride way too much." I said.   
  
"Would you prefer it if I ran away screaming 'my friend's a demon?'"  
  
"At least it would show you're somewhat weirded out over this whole thing."  
  
"I am."  
  
"You have a funny way of showing it."  
  
"I didn't think that's what you needed from me." She said.   
  
Yes it was, but I guess I didn't think of it from her perspective.   
  
"I guess."  
  
"Trust me Xand, on the inside I'm freaking. It's a freak-a-thon."   
  
I laughed lightly, the sound of it seemed to come from somewhere else.   
  
"I... I can't stay home anymore." I said. "Not after all of this. I can't be what my father wants me to be Buffy. I don't want to hurt anyone."  
  
"I know you don't," she replied.   
  
"I have to go back to my house for some stuff."   
  
"Okay." She said. "What are you going to do about your father?"   
  
Now that was something I'd been thinking of since the second he walked back through our front door. I'd just never had the guts to do anything. I couldn't hurt my father that I was sure of. I sure as hell wasn't going to try either. No, my plan consisted of something I'd gotten pretty good at this summer.   
  
I was going to run. 


End file.
